


Towards What Light

by skye_of_stars



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (spoiler: it isn't), AKA: my aesthetic, F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, Multi, and IS valinor paradise, and paradise, and what IS paradise, but also just a lot of cuteness???, fourth age valinor, lots of thoughts abt immortality and the choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 06:12:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skye_of_stars/pseuds/skye_of_stars
Summary: After delaying their choice until the absolute last moment, Elladan and Elrohir finally sail for Valinor, though they are not without their misgivings.  Thankfully, there's more than a few family members to enjoy the company of... and who are those Teleri twins who are trying to learn everything possible about Edain pirates?  Oh no, they're cute.  Oh no.





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, our tarrying seems over.”  
“I know, brother, I know.”  
We’d made it many springs, yes, but now the winds are chill and easterly, they fast sweep across the lands towards the west. And here we are on grey sands, the sun shining bright. I grimace.  
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Elrohir asks me, not for the first time.  
“No,” I say, as I’ve said to him before. “Certainly I’m not sure in the way our father was, not sure in the way Tuor was, not sure in the way Elwing was, or even in the opposite way that Luthien or our sister were.”  
(Our sister, who is now dead—)  
“Oh, but aren’t you?” He says with a grin, punching me in the shoulder, playfully. “You’ve always been sure, even more than me. You’ve been sure you didn’t want to ever choose.”  
“You’re making far too much fun of me here, broth-“  
“Never!”  
I roll my eyes, and consider getting us back on track. The sands in the harbor are grey. I do not want this. But neither do I want the alternative.  
“Do you want to sit down for it?” I suggest.  
“No,” he says. “Let’s look our fate straight in the eye, straight west, our backs tall and proud as if we were facing down an army.”  
“We’re good at that, at least,” I note.  
“Exactly,” he says.  
I sigh. “Are you ready, then?” I try not to to let sorrow enter my tone, but I am sure he hears it all the same. He is my brother, my twin, he has been with me since the moment we first drew breath. We have done nearly everything together, and now together we do this.  
Unfortunately for my attempt to instill solemnity to the moment though, he shrugs.  
“Seriously?” I ask.  
He rolls his eyes at me this time, and sighs himself. “Am I ready to tie myself to one people, to one fate, to change the way of my very being, as Father described it, to suddenly feel and remember things differently? No, of course I am not!”  
“And yet we must. This way or the other way,” I remind him.  
“I know,” he says.  
“We are talking in circles,” I say with a sigh, and pace a small circle almost as if to emphasize it. “First you ask if I am ready, and then you—“  
“—and neither of us are—“  
“—and yet we are here at the coast—“  
“—for this is the only way to see Mother again, and Father.” Elrohir smiles sadly, and it is that very turn of his mouth that reminds me that it is he who tipped the scales between our choices, he whose desire for family was enough to turn both our hearts toward the west, just a little. He who reminded me of my own love for them.  
And yet, and yet—  
“Well, it seems we’ll never be ready,” I say.  
“Obviously.”  
We sigh, both of us, in unison. I walk back to his side, and he holds out his arm just a little; I unthinkingly link my hand with his, and I glance to him, and he glances to me, and I know—this is the moment.  
“We were meant for a middle path,” I say, even as in my heart I whisper the decision, a choice, first kindred, Valinor, eternity—  
“We were,” Elrohir echoes, and I know that in his heart he whispers the same.  
Not the decision either of us ever wanted.  
But the only one left to us.  
I know it has happened when I open my eyes (so, it seems, I had closed them), and close them again, and when I close them, the sight of the sun above shining and yet grey waters seems to remain the same, for the strength of my memory of it.  
I grimace and tighten my eyes closed further and feel Elrohir squeeze my hand and let out a breath. “So, it is done,” I say.  
“Yes,” he echoes.  
I let go of his hand and face him; he, back straight, looking west. As if fighting an army. I am about to smile in fondness, but instead he smiles.  
“I think I almost like it,” he says.  
And I almost flinch back in something like betrayal, he isn’t supposed to like it, he’s supposed to be as deeply Peredhil as me, connecting neither wholly to Elves nor Men, but always most those who lie in between, talking most frequently to the Dunedain, never wishing to choose—  
“Don’t look like that, brother,” he says, and I realize that I have flinched.  
“It’s just,” I say, and I hear the ocean, and I remember every sound it makes—“are we still us?”  
Elrohir’s shoulders fall a little to see my distress, although what he says is, “Of course.”  
“I miss them already,” I say, “Men— and I miss this place too, though we’ve yet to leave its shores—“  
“But do you not also miss Mother? Do you not also wish to finally see her, after all these years?”  
“You already know that answer,” I say.  
“And so you know that I miss what you miss as well. You know that, and I know that, and we both know that this very situation we have been brought into is an injustice—and yet we still are both, brother, we still are. Has not Father himself said all these years that he too is of Men, even though he chose the First Kindred so very long ago?”  
“You say it as First Kindred,” I note. “Not as we or us.”  
He smiles. “That was purposeful.”  
“I know,” I say.  
And we stand there, on the coast, the gulls calling above, trying to process what has happened, trying to conceive of it, trying not to mourn what we have not yet lost and failing, failing—we look into each other’s eyes, and I swear, I swear that I can see my brother’s ears lengthen, and the light shifts, the sun setting, I am trying to force the clarity of my new memories into my old memories as well, I am trying to make every memory of the middle road and the mortals I’ve loved and this Middle Earth just this clear and I find that with effort I mostly can, and the sun’s light fades—  
—and finally, I laugh.  
“What?” Elrohir laughs.  
“It’s been a few hours,” I say. “We, it seems, are not so skilled at ending our tarrying.”  
` “No,” Elrohir says, “not by any means.”


	2. Chapter 2

We spent, it seems, all the voyage to Valinor talking with each other of our favorite mortals, of all the details we could manage of Middle Earth—and we could manage many, for though those older memories are blurrier than things we newly experience, we can always hold onto them with effort.

And so we spoke everything we held, to even better remember it forever.

We spoke the names of each Dunedain chieftain, told their favorite jokes and laughed at their characteristic smiles.One conversation we’d had in golden Autumn light, another—we remembered them each and all.And too we remembered the travelers, those we’d led to rooms and fed, that one dwarf girl who had blushed into her beard every time she looked at Elrohir, and he had said as we reminisced—

—“Oh no, no, do not remind me, she was so enamored, and she was indeed kind, but I did not _love_ her, and when she conspired to spill wine on my shirt so that I would take it off—oh, no, I remember the exact moment”—

—and I had laughed, and I now remember that exact laugh, and the exact tones of embarrassment in Elrohir’s voice.It is strange how it is, and how it feels: each moment as clear as if it is the present, and yet the present still _here_ , all around is, and in that way clearer, even though each memory is so bright.

Bright even when sleeping, I have found, though not anew—I have dreamt many elf-dreams before, but they have never come so easily as they do now.But I have, it seemed, learned the trick of twisting my thoughts and rest to the side, and finding once again human-dreams—though those, too, seem in a way clearer, and are not forgotten, and I am aware that they are dreams even as they occur.But I find wandering seas that have never existed and finding strange islands where trees grow upside down and bear odd glowing fruit, which Glorfindel is somehow the king of—this was my most recent, and like everything else I remember it clearly—more pleasurable than just experiencing memory, again and again.

Especially since the easiest memories to rise in me are those of this very time on this very ship with my brother, and it is true that I have gotten a little bored of this particular ocean.

I think of these things now, now that glowing sands are visible in the distance.Just minutes ago it seemed that I would not think of the past, no, these shores were so _interesting_ —

—but now I have looked at them for all those minutes, and they are farther away than they look and seem to barely grow closer, and so my mind has wandered.

“Elrohir,” I say, “how far away would you think we still are?”

“I don’t know, brother,” he says, “but I do have one observation.”

“What is that?”

“You could perhaps do well to learn patience.”

I laugh, of course I laugh.“You are usually the one pilloried for that particular absence, my brother,” I say.

“And yet is it not also said that we share many of the same vices?”

“Of course it is said so,” I say.“If we did not, how ever would we have managed to spend so long without even choosing, without even doing the _one_ thing expected of us?”

“I am glad that you still laugh,” he says.“For you hated this choice more than I, and I worried—truly, I worried.”

“I am not so foolish to have chosen something I could not bear,” I say, I, at the helm of a ship—I say this and find myself thinking of my grandfather, who carries that brightest star of the sky, and I realize suddenly that I will now have a chance to meet him.

“And you do bear it then, you bear it well?”

“Well enough,” I say.“And you?”

“It is strange, I find, but I have said that before, and of course you will remember—and indeed this will take some getting used to!—but with some time, I think I will better know my full thoughts on it.What I have right now is instinct, instinct like I feel running in the woods after something—and that instinct tells me that there is easy brightness now, yes, which is easy to appreciate, but that pain is also a type of brightness, and it may need be mine to endure.”

“We already know pain,” I say, we who have fought in wars, we who have lost our sister to the one place we can never go.

“And yet, now, so sharp, and with no clear escape,” Elrohir says.“Or so it seems now to me that it will be, and so it also sounds from everything Father has said, and so many other Elves that we have met.”

“Yet we are going to a place of such little pain that it was safe even for our mother,” I say.I need not finish my implication: _safe for her, after.Safe for her, when all her ability to hold onto joy was broken and shattered, when even her smiles could not last against the tears and the shaking._

“And does that not, too, worry you?” he asks.

“We have discussed this before,” I say.“Going in circles, tarrying—“

“Yes, yes!” Elrohir says.“But allow me to finish.All our mother’s kind have been called to Valinor to rest, _to where we are going_ —but what will we find in rest? _Will_ rest even contain the brightness our eyes now look for, more than they ever did?”

“If it did not,” I say with almost a sigh, “how would the entirety of the First Kindred willingly bear it, _seek_ it, even?You know how our grandmother so often spoke of it wistfully.”

“Still, I do not—I never have—I do not understand the goings of life there.No matter how much our grandmother would talk of it, or even Glorfindel.It worries me, brother, despite how my desire to see our family draws me to it.”

“And that is not what I fear, not exactly,” I say.“For it would be fairer to say that I fear the brightness itself, the _tying_ to this Kindred, how much less softness it provides.The fact that I have to work at it, now, even for simple human sleep—though not so hard, I guess, if my past week of nights is anything to judge by.And still!Still, I loved the middle road, I loved seeing so much of both sides and moving between them in my perception whensoever I would—and now, now, that is harder, and worse, I cannot know people of both kinds now!”

Elrohir looks to me with a sad smile that I know all too well, on that face that mirrors my own. _The world separated, the bent and straight paths moving farther and farther apart, one continent of Men, one continent of Elves, mortality here and immortality there._ “I do not like it either, brother,” he says.

I close my eyes, and it pangs behind them there, and I grit my teeth to know that I will not forget how this feels, not ever—not that I would have _chosen_ to, even before, but I would have welcomed the ability to choose!

“Do you not think, however,” Elrohir says, a tinge of playfulness in his voice, “that we could still find a way around this?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The sundering of our Kindreds, which we are both both of, no matter what our outward choices say.The sundering of the world.We come from a very long line of people who have done more than they were ever expected to, brother.Do you not think we would be well equipped to do something incredible of our own—especially after listening to all our ancestors’ stories firsthand?”

Ah.I had long suspected that some strange and glinting part of him—he always seemed to have at least one such part, hidden away somewhere—had a motive for our choice that was not wholly what he told me.For all that we always shared, he would occasionally do something like this: keep a secret, something close to him, for some months or even years before finally breaking it to me as if in a sudden ray of light through the clouds.

“There it is then,” I say to him.“The purpose you had hidden.”

“And now you see it,” he says.“You knew that following me in this would lead you to something right.”

“I might have made this choice even without your input,” I say.

He laughs.“You, Elladan, would likely have somehow _never_ chosen.Even though that would be a choice in and of itself.Still, staying on Middle Earth would not have required the procuring of a boat, and so it would be the choice of least resistance, and so you would have stayed, having hated that you had to choose all along—“

“Have more faith in me, brother!”

“I know you too well,” Elrohir says.“But thankfully, you have me, and I daresay you always will.For I did not choose Elfkind any more than you did, not in my deepest of hearts—or, yes, I did choose them, but I always chose Men too, and still do, I choose to have both!And if the world will not give me that now, then I will make it.”

“Careful,” I say.“I hear Valinorians do not take so kindly to those who say that they will _make_ the world give them what they wish.They have bad memories about something like that, I recall.”

“And that is why I will not tell them!” Elrohir says.“Or not most, not yet, I would think.And nor will I attempt to _harm_ them if it does turn out to be impossible.But I will hold out hope.That, at least, I have learned from our father.”

“And if you do fall down some strange path and attempt harm, know that I will stop you.After all, you do have me, brother, and I daresay you always will.”

Elrohir rolls his eyes, but he smiles, and that is how I know he appreciates me.“Oh, I have another observation,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Valinor is indeed closer, now, than it was.”

I strongly consider punching his shoulder, but I am not sure if that would be appropriate for the moment—especially since I will remember it forever.No, wait, I think to myself—it is _absolutely_ appropriate _because_ I will remember it forever.

And so with a mischievous smile that I try to conceal so as not to betray my actions before they happen, I reach over and punch him lovingly in the shoulder.

“Ow!” He says.

“You deserved it,” I say, matter of factly.

“That is still up for debate,” Elrohir says.

“ _Anything_ can be debated, brother,” I say.“Or so all those who have been or known kings have told us.”

“In which case, my point is even more true.”

“I know,” I say, and there is a gap in the rising mountains beyond the glittering and shining shores, and through that gap there is the sun, setting at the end of the day.It is far more highlighted in this landscape than I would have expected, for Elf-lands—but this at least, I do not mind, for I have always enjoyed the light of the sun.

I watch the shore come closer, and with my eyes that now seem to see more than I expect them to, I can even see the caps of breaking waves.I watch this, and the sun lowers.

And eventually Elrohir says in a voice so quiet that it is like a breath, “How many hours, do you think, until we see her?” _Our mother_.

“Not so many,” I say.“Not so many at all.”


	3. Chapter 3

And so it is that we come here and now to find the waves so near us breaking on the shore and rushing back as if falling, though some of the water yet sinks into the sand.And the sun is so low, and the sand glows so strongly—stronger than I have ever seen anything glow at sunset.I wonder at it, and to my side I see Elrohir wrinkle his nose.

“We’re here, then,” I say as if it needed saying.

“Indeed,” he says, and I hear the wind—I _hear_ the wind, clearly, though it is only the gentlest of breezes.And the sun is bright, so bright.

I look up from where my eyes have wandered on the glittering sand—I look through the gap in the mountains, I see the clear touch of green beyond, and the wind is almost like a whisper: _come home_.But it is not my home, not truly.

And yet I feel it strongly to see it, as if I could reach out and—

— _and what, Elladan?Be part of it?You were already part of something else_.

I sigh.“Are you ready?” I ask my brother.

“To be here?” He asks.“No.But am I ready to walk forward and announce ourselves, and find our parents, and finally be held by them again, and hold them in return?Yes, yes, I am far more than ready.”

“Then let us,” I say, and we step forward into the fading light.

 

The stars are the one thing that do not seem as bright as back home—for it is home, it _is_ , Imladris always was and is and will be through all the ages of the earth.They seem, if anything, much the same, or even slightly dimmed by competing with the strange way even the moss on the cliffside that form the passageway through the mountains seem to hold light.

We travel down this gap, and in this gap is a river, and I glance to Elrohir, who is biting his lip against something or another about this place, although I cannot say exactly what.

However, I can ask.

“You are troubled again, brother?” I say, and there is a smile on my face and in my voice, for it is true that as he had told me many times, we will see our family again soon.At least, we will see those of our family that remain.

“Of course I am,” he says.“This place glows too brightly, it seems, has a presence too strong.It is as if the very water radiates its clarity and wetness to me from afar.”

And he would be one to know, he of the sharp eyes, he of the trained skill of observation, he so good at the hunt.Once he points it out, I nod, for it is true—although I do not know, exactly, if I find it troubling, only different, and at a second thought panging me for that difference means it is not like Middle-Earth, which only makes me miss the land of my birth more.

Yet something about it is almost familiar; I clearly feel my mind trying to make the connections, and when I close my eyes I so clearly remember that I nearly see grass, fields after fields, then skies, no, but this does not remind me any of that, not of any of the long stretches I have walked in the wilds, although I love them so—

“Brother?” Elrohir asks.

A dream, a dream; that was a dream, of the sort that come more naturally to my body and mind now.I still hate that fact, and I shake my head; although, in _this_ case, such dreams might be very useful.

But it would perhaps be wise of me to pay attention to the actual path I walk.

I turn to Elrohir as I step forward; he still looks at me, confused, raises his eyebrows much as he says I do as well sometimes. 

“It seems I was dreaming,” I summarize to him.

“Oh,” he says.

And so we walk forward, and the ground is almost springy below our feet: gentle, wet, mostly moss-covered.The sides of the gap—which might more rightly be called a canyon—too glisten with water, with tiny and so-thin waterfalls all along the sides.It might be enough to make one sigh at the beauty of it.Perhaps the Noldor once did, remembering all the details of where I walk now from so far away, so clearly and yet so utterly unable to return.

And yet, they have all returned now.Through death or through pardon or through the final sailing of the ships, they have returned.And of all this Kindred, we are the last to arrive.

I try not to sigh too loudly, for now does not seem to be the time to trouble Elrohir further.Perhaps I will tell him over a meal a little further down the canyon; but now, as he walks, it still seems that he hurts, something of him rejecting something about this place.And I do not know what I could say to comfort him, for there is no return, not now, and there will not ever be unless something changes, perhaps in the way he means to change it.

“At least we are going to them, brother,” I finally say.

And he replies: “Yes, yes, at least that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually uhhh pretty much chapter 3a... it should have been appended to the end of ch3 but I posted ch3 before I thought to write this, whoops. It's Elrohir POV, too!

The wanting—the wanting is so strong as Elladan finally tells me his thoughts, by yet more waterfalls, the rock I sit on almost too solid against me.

“We are the last to arrive, and this is a sadness in me,” he says; despite the content of his words, I almost smile, for that turn of phrase is so like our father.Our father, who we will soon see!And our _mother_!And yet even if it seems that part of me should grin at that, my eyes are somehow already filling with tears—the last, the last, we are the last.Or at least that is how this world’s doom as it stands would have it.

_But perhaps doom can change,_ I whisper for the thousandth and thousandth time to myself.And that is the want that is strong as a tide in me.A rising, rising tide.

“A sadness it is right to be,” I finally reply.

“I do not doubt that it is,” Elladan says.

“And we will keep talking around in circles if we sit here any longer,” I say.“Come, let’s stand, I can see the end of the canyon now, and from what I know the end of it is Tirion, and with it both new and familiar faces.”

It is only hesitantly that Elladan stands, and this does not surprise me.When I turn away from him and roll my eyes, I can still see the exact expression on his face: a subtle disquiet.I remember it so clearly now, perfectly.And I’m still not sure exactly how I feel about that.

Still, it could be useful.I always did have a better memory than most of the Edain, but being able to see something wondrous and be able to _perfectly_ remember that for always, and later use it to comfort myself?I saw the value in that, though I also saw the inherent difficulty of every painful memory being just as perfectly preserved for just as long.I had watched our mother attempt to recover, after all.

And yet I wish now clearly that I’d had this memory then, to better preserve in me the mortal friends I’d had, and the mortal lands I had loved.And still love.

Still, in this moment, we walk, and by our feet there is moss, and in the distance there is a gleam.It is subtle, and I wouldn’t have noticed it if I did not already know of the city rising in that direction, shining.

And we already seem so far from the sea, and the more the waves recede from my waking ears—though I remember their exact sound, I remember, and I dream it too—the more it seems that we are really here.We are in Valinor, and there is not meant to be any going back.


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, we enter Tirion.My heart is pounding in my chest; it has been ever since the gleaming construction of it all became clear.

It is not walled, not truly; it is surrounded on two of its sides by cliffs, for this valley narrows deeply after the opening the city is built in.But at the side we approach, its borders are marked instead by nearly-shining golden bamboo.So it _looks_ like a wall or at least a fence of a city, in part.But it isn’t.

And it’s _loud_.

I feel I barely have time to take a thing in before I pass under the archway between the wide groves of bamboo.I am assaulted, it seems, by the activity in this city: hundreds of people mill about a large cobblestone courtyard, laughing, there’s the smell of flowers and fruits, and though it seems that almost every wall of every building is either white or gold, there are market stands and wildly draped cloth in any and every color.

And everyone, _everyone_ , has long and in some cases ornately styled hair, and long ears like mine now are, and what almost seems like a light in even the darkest colors of eyes.

Elves, Elves, only Elves.

I miss the Men and Dunedain already.

“Well,” I say.“We’re here.”

Elrohir nods, and for once I resist tarrying, and instead step forward. My heart still pounds: at any moment, at _any moment_ , we could see … _anyone_.Our father.Our _mother_.Some other ancestor.Our _grandmother_.Glorfindel.Erestor.Fëanor himself, returned from the Halls. _Anyone_.

(But not Arwen.Never her, never again.)

We pass through the middle of the courtyard, and there is laughter, and there is movement, and I _cannot_ take it all in.It simply is not feasible.And yet I still feel that I am on constant lookout: we could see anyone, at any time.And if we don’t, perhaps I will ask someone, anyone, in some language—many, but not all, of the voices around me are Quenya, and I thank our parents for teaching us so many tongues—for Celebrían, or Elrond.

I glance to Elrohir; his eyes are wide, such that it seems he is actually _more_ overwhelmed than me.Well.I guess that would be excuse enough to just ask someone, and be done with it.

An Elf passes by.(Yes, an elf, of course—we are _all_ elves here, except for my grandfather, oh Elbereth, I will be able to see my great-grandfather, and Elbereth _herself_ for that matter—no, I have important things to be doing, not just thinking of this, but oh, this is important too, the people I care about or could meet are important.)She has light hair and many braids and I don’t recognize her, but then I didn’t expect to, and—I turn to her and make myself ask, “Celebrían.Do you know where Celebrían is?”

And she smiles, softly.“Celebrían?Oh, the daughter of Gala—“

And very suddenly among all the glittering lights of the city and banners, someone wholly else storms through.I can’t help but feel that I recognize him, but not very well—that he is perhaps someone I’ve only seen in passing, or perhaps in images.It occurs to me that this is a problem Elves do not have, that they would remember so quickly, but ah, whenever I saw this Elf would have been during my half-mortal times, but now, perhaps if I were to look more clearly into those images—

But he is already putting his hands on my shoulder.“Ah!” He says.“You!”And he turns to my brother, smiling wide, moving one hand off my shoulder to touch his.“And you!”

“Do we know you…?” Elrohir asks.

I restrain a laugh.Ah, Elrohir.Between the two of us, he has not often been called the more tactful; and this is why.Perhaps I really will have to keep an eye on him here…

“No, no, I am sorry, but no, you do not!Not yet, anyway,” the Elf says, a glint in his eye somehow combining with an embarrassed look on his face as he takes his hands off our shoulders.“My name is Finrod.And you, you are Elrond’s sons, descendants of my uncle and my sister both!”His eyes gentle. “And of Beren, my friend.”

“ _Ohh_ ,” I say, realizing all at once that I truly have seen his image many times, in paintings and in sculptures.Finrod, friend to Men—

“Descendants of so many friends,” he says, sadness in his eyes even as he smiles.“Welcome home, Secondborn.”

My eyes widen.Those words are _not_ the words that are meant to be spoken _here_ , on Valinor.Here, where we had to choose to be only one way and not both, in order to sail—he is greeting us _as_ —?

“Oh,” Finrod says.“Do you not wish to be called so?For I know you are Firstborn as well, chosen as such, I assume, if you are here—perhaps those are the kindred you are closer to, it is immortality that calls brighter to you?”

I shake my head and close my eyes, and I laugh, I laugh!In my voice as it flows from my mouth there is mirth, and there is irony, and love, and hope.“No, Finrod,” I say clearly.“I have always counted myself among both, and I still do.”

His smile, though gentle, somehow matches mine, a counterpoint; to my side, Elrohir inclines his head.

“Then one of your kinds is a kind I have missed dearly,” Finrod says.

I close my eyes, a laugh soft in my lips, tears already finding their way out of my eyes.So many I miss already, I think.So many I will always miss, until the ending of the world.“Yes,” I say. 

But Elrohir says, “And you know where our parents are, correct?”

Ah, my brother.Impatient still, despite all our tarrying!How odd, others might find us to be.And yet, we are what we are, and I will not deny it, I will not, not even if my mind tries to wander me to Elven sleep, not even if I remember all things with perfect clarity!For I am a Man, just as I am an Elf, no matter all other things.

“Yes,” Finrod says, “I do.It seems they have found another valley here, although they tell me this one is quite a bit higher in elevation!I would love to take you as a guide, if you would have me—I have heard so much about you.”

I sigh; Elrohir sighs louder.“I suspect perhaps _everyone_ here has heard a lot about us, then?” he asks.

“There may be some truth to that,” Finrod admits.“But oh, perhaps we should get out of the crowd—and oh, do you want to spend time here in this city first, I know all the best places to eat, the Avari have brought some of the _best_ food, although it is more fashionable as of late to have a taste for Sindarin food—but oh, am I rambling? I think I am rambling, Bëor certainly always told me so—“

I laugh.“You remind me a little of my father,” I say.

“That, I think, is a compliment,” Finrod says, then considers for a moment.“Unless, of course, it is not.I do hear that some dislike the length of his stories, even among the Firstborn—and, of course, he does often take to repeating poems his friend Bilbo wrote—“

I and Elrohir both laugh. “ _Seriously_?” He says.“He’s still at that?”

“Brother,” I say, in the tone of fond admonishment.“It is a kind way to honor a friend, you do know.”

“Yes, but his poems are _terrible_ , and I think Ada actually _likes_ them…”

“All the better to honor Bilbo!” I say.“Yes, Finrod, I believe it _is_ a compliment, in the majority of its parts at least.”

“But still, still!” Finrod says, his eyes filled with mirth.“We _should_ decide on the matter of food, before we set out—if we are setting out, you still have not said—“

“I would be glad to have you as a guide,” I say with an incline of my head.

“And I as well,” Elrohir says.“After all, you _are_ rather famous, and it is simply natural to wish to hang out with—“

I punch his shoulder, lightly.

“Whaaat?” He says.

I shake my head.“Anyway.We would be glad to have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if there's typos. There probably are. I mostly write fic to calm myself down from ptsd attacks etc so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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